


Unintended Tenderness (the only thing that's real, don't take it away from me)

by violent_ends



Series: Hypnos [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Canon Compliant, Episode Related, Episode: s04e04 All About Eve, F/M, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, POV Lucifer, Sexual Content, Smut, Soft Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), fuckruary2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22562065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent_ends/pseuds/violent_ends
Summary: She tastes unmistakably of woman, human, mortal; a tangible sense of fragility under his lips, an innate vulnerability that begs for all the tenderness he can muster, all the gentleness his unforgiving nature allows, a gentleness he’s not sure Father intended for any of His angels to have and that is his and his alone because of it.
Relationships: Eve/Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Series: Hypnos [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623364
Comments: 31
Kudos: 54





	Unintended Tenderness (the only thing that's real, don't take it away from me)

**Author's Note:**

> This is Part 1 of my 3-piece Eveningstar Fuckruary 2020 series that will explore Eve and Lucifer’s relationship through their sex life, from All About Eve to Super Bad Boyfriend. All secondary titles are lyrics from _Hypnos_ by Delhia de France (featured in their kiss scene).
> 
> I will alternate publishing with my post-S4 Established Deckerstar series, which you can find [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619773).
> 
> For this story: Sugar prompts #3 hands + #9 oral

Lucifer is still shocked into silence when Eve pulls back from his embrace and looks at him with clear intent in her eyes.

_I think you’re amazing. All of you._

She takes him by the hand and leads him away from the dancefloor, up the stairs, into the elevator, as she did at the beginning of time to show him a secluded spot she discovered, proud and delighted and thrilled at the idea of getting away with it – _It will be our little secret, no one will ever know_.

Once again he lets himself be led and doesn’t tell her that nothing really stays secret, because at the end of the day, this is not His garden; this is _his_ forgotten corner of the world and it’s clear that Father has turned His eyes away by now. Lucifer has spent so much time obsessing over His meddling, but in the end, he managed to screw it up entirely on his own, falling for the illusion that someone as grounded in reality as the Detective could actually want him for who he is. _Bloody idiot_.

There is no God here, just like there is no God in Hell. He’s the Devil, and as such, he is alone.

His mind is still reeling, his lips are still tingling, his heart is still breaking, but the ache starts to finally seem bearable after such an exhausting day. He’s so tired of this life all of a sudden, tired of seeking acceptance where there is none, like a pathetic puppy abandoned along the side of the road that keeps finding its way back to its owner hoping it will be different this time, but it never is, it never will be.

His head is so clouded with thoughts that he doesn’t register walking from the elevator to the bedroom until suddenly he is sitting at the edge of the mattress, dazedly looking up at Eve standing in front of him as if having no clue about what is happening. He’s still not sure he has one.

Eve lets go of his hand and, without breaking eye contact with him, reaches behind her back to partly pull down the zipper of her dress. Then she effortlessly slips the sparkly, beautiful garment off her shoulders and down her body, revealing absolutely nothing underneath, moving her long hair to the side to show herself to him like a prize to be taken.

It makes him snap back into the present like a bucket of freezing water, seeing her again like this, her curves fuller and more prominent, stretch marks along the lines of her hips, signs of the passing of time that will never show on his skin. It’s like walking in front of a place you used to love after many years and discovering that it’s changed, but not enough as to make it unrecognizable, never enough to erase the memories you built in it.

It’s been thousands of years, and still he remembers; he knows they both do.

Hypnotized, he lifts his hands to skim his fingertips along the sides of Eve's thighs, her hipbones, her belly, still uncertain despite her unmistakable intentions. He traces new patterns on her skin that he never traced before, childishly fascinated by all the little differences, all the ways she grew and transformed in a way that is inherently human. Finally, he dares to look up and meet her gaze almost in supplication, begging her silently for something he knows she’ll willingly give.

Eve, never shy of her nakedness, not even now that he’s fully dressed, steps closer to him and gently buries her fingers in his hair, guiding him closer, and so he sinks. He nuzzles and kisses her between her breasts, softly at first, and Eve sighs and melts into him, a welcome home after a long, long time. This is familiar territory, this is _easy_: he doesn’t have to walk on eggshells, not with her, especially not now that she has seen all that he is.

_I think you’re amazing. All of you._

Eve clutches him closer to her chest and Lucifer knows what she wants, knows what she likes: he learned what a woman _is_ from the lines of her body, learned how a woman sounds from the quivering of her throat under his lips. He peppers wet, open-mouthed kisses along the side of her breast before sucking one nipple in his mouth, his thumb gently circling the other, as his other hand supports Eve by the small of her back.

Eve strokes his hair back in an almost motherly gesture, or at least he thinks so; Mum was never into blatant shows of affection, not unless she wanted something in return, he has come to realize. But what Eve wants in return he'll gladly give: her desire is his own, always has been; theirs was mutual seduction more than temptation, if he had to define it, but no one ever asked him to – or her, for that matter.

He presses her closer as his tongue finds her other nipple, until she’s straddling him with her knees on the edge of the bed, her arousal a palpable thing against his clothed belly. He could get lost like this, lost in the breathless sounds she’s making, but suddenly he fully, truly remembers: _he knows what she likes_.

Muscle memory kicks in and without even pulling back from her chest, he flips her and guides her to lie down on the bed, her legs dangling over the edge. He trails kisses lower and lower, hovering above her for a moment before dropping to the floor for the only thing he’s ever knelt for. Eve lets out a delighted little laugh once she understands, the sound turning into a gasp of awe and gratitude when Lucifer spreads her legs and kisses her sex sweetly, almost reverently.

_He never kisses me down there_, she’d told him after, embarrassed, as if somehow she was the one to be blamed for it, for the man unable to make her happy, for the almost ridiculous fault in Dad’s little side project. _How can he not?_, Lucifer had thought, _How can he not when it pleases you so?_

Back then, nothing they did had a name, and only later he realized _he_ was the one who made that a thing; the act itself became his Creation just when he thought there was nothing left for him to give life to, nothing else to be proud of after saying goodbye to his stars.

_Do you want me to do it again?_, he’d asked her then, and Eve had nodded with her lower lip between her teeth, suddenly shy after being so, so bold, and right then and there Lucifer had decided he would never deny her this. Later she showed him she could do it to him, too, the pleasure so overwhelming he knew he had to learn how to give it as well as receive it; and in time, he did.

She tastes unmistakably of woman, human, mortal; a tangible sense of fragility under his lips, an innate vulnerability that begs for all the tenderness he can muster, all the gentleness his unforgiving nature allows, a gentleness he’s not sure Father intended for any of His angels to have and that is his and his alone because of it. His hands travel back up Eve's body to cup her breasts as he licks into her, making her quiver and whimper and flutter around his tongue, one of her hands clutching his to her breast as the other finds its way into his hair.

“Lucifer,” she moans, pressing him closer, “_Oh_, Lucifer, I've missed this so much.”

Her hips stutter for a moment until she finds a rhythm, eagerly seeking the heat of his mouth, and he lets her, groaning at the feel of her nails scratching his scalp, at the taste getting stronger as she grows wetter and closer. He pinches her nipples between his fingers and tugs slightly, intent on making her come with his mouth, on reclaiming this power he forgot he had – he’s so damn _weak_ lately, disgustingly so; weak and ashamed but of this he'll _never_ be ashamed.

And so he moves with Eve, following the undulating motion of her hips, spreading her further with his tongue; but just when he can sense she’s getting there, pulsing frantically around him, her hand pulls him back.

“Please, Lucifer, please" she whispers, looking down at him with hunger in her eyes, flushed and panting as she holds herself back from the precipice, and once again Lucifer knows what she wants.

Suddenly as impatient as she seems, he scrambles to unzip his trousers as he hastily toes off his shoes. Eve catches up quickly, sitting up to unbutton his shirt and pull it off his shoulders and arms together with the black suspenders he was wearing under the jacket. Lucifer presses her down into the bed as soon as he’s naked and slides into her, slick and warm and tight, so much so that discomfort flickers on Eve's face, her lips parted around a sound stuck in her throat.

“You alright?” he asks her in a whisper, brushing a lock of hair away from her forehead, feeling guilty for his eagerness. He should have taken his time despite her hurry, should have taken care of her with his fingers before sinking into her like this: the Silver City is no place for earthly pleasures and it must have been a while for her.

Yet Eve smiles up at him, her hands coming up to cup his cheeks as they did downstairs, her doe eyes wide and shining in a show of adoration that leaves him stunned, breathless, at a loss for words.

“Perfect" she replies, wrapping her legs around him to guide him deeper still. “Now, kiss me.”

He realizes only now that he hasn’t so far, not in this form. Because she kissed _the other one_. She kissed his Devil face. She _kissed_ his _Devil_ face. Gratitude overwhelms him to the point where he feels like she’s _earned_ this, and so he does kiss her, pushing into her slowly the moment their lips meet, groaning softly when she whimpers as she draws her own taste from his tongue.

He pries Eve's hands away from his face and pins her arms on either side of her head, intertwining their fingers together on the sheets. He can feel her relaxing and opening around him, urging him to rock into her. He does so with long, slow thrusts that elicit the sweetest moans out of her, pressing her deeply into the bed before languidly pulling back.

Her hair is spread on the mattress like lines of black ink spilled on parchment; Lucifer buries his face in it and breathes it in, then mouths at the skin of her shoulder and neck, rediscovering a scent he thought he had managed to find again in all the women that came after her, all the humans that came _from_ her.

But she smells of freshly made, even now, even after dying and being reborn or whatever it was that allowed her to be here; human but with that lingering tint of divinity that makes his blood sing in his veins with instinctive recognition and longing at the pull of his nature, of where he comes from, of what he’s _made_ of. She was sculpted by His hands and in this, she’ll always be different: more genuine, more authentic than all the later copies molded in her image.

When her legs tighten around him and her fingers squeeze his intently, Lucifer smiles against her mouth and lets her do what she’s about to do: lets her flip him on his back and pin _his_ arms down instead, because Eve _loves_ to be on top. She presses her hips down while leaning closer to his face, biting and pulling at his lower lip, but quickly retreating when he tries to crane his neck up and follow her lips for a proper kiss.

“You little minx" he jokes, making her chuckle in mischief and delight, her musical laughter echoing through the gloom of the penthouse like the chirping of birds through the trees of Eden. Her hair frames her face as she hovers above him, creating a curtain that shields them both, offering him a secluded view of her features scrunching up in pleasure as she rubs herself against him exactly the way she likes, grinding down without really lifting her hips.

It’s not enough friction for Lucifer to really get into it, but he'd do this for hours: watch a woman as fierce as her writhe on top of him, wrecked from waves of mounting bliss until she cries out and pulses around him, until all she can say is _Yes_ or some stuttered, half-formed version of his name.

Eve squeezes her hips around him and drives into him with purpose, her fingers probably painful around his wrists if he could feel any pain, her eyes tightly shut as they are when she’s almost there. He can’t do anything to help her, so he settles for whispering encouraging words in her ear, “That’s it, darling, yes, just like that.”

“Luce,” she croaks out of breath, the nickname foreign after such a long time. He’s been Lu, he’s been Luci (and Satan and Beelzebub and many other things), but she was the one who came up with this one; Lopez has tried to claim it for herself multiple times but somehow it never felt right.

Eve’s hands lose their grip when she starts to come, so he takes the opportunity to reach down and hook his fingers in the flesh of her ass, guiding her movements as she chases her high all the way to the end. She gets drowsy and boneless right after, he remembers, so he chuckles knowingly when she slumps on top of him completely, burying her face in the crook of his neck with a sigh. He pushes her hair to one side and strokes her back tenderly for a moment, rocking into her minutely to get some friction for himself while her breathing relaxes.

As gently as he can, he eases out of her and turns her around so she’s lying on her side on the sheets, her back against his chest. He sneaks one arm under her neck and wraps the other around her middle to clutch at her waist and press into her again from behind, holding her steady to thrust up as fast as he likes. Eve makes a little humming sound of agreement and lifts one arm to keep his head close, her fingers tight in his hair.

She’s almost on the verge of sleep but forces herself to stay awake for him, offering her body to him, surrendering to his suddenly frantic desperation. “You feel so good" she tells him before turning her face around to kiss him on the lips, even though she must be hurting by now, he knows; but there is comfort in the lie despite how much he hates lies, comfort in how sweetly she lets him lose himself inside her.

Because he’s lost, he’s drifting away, but he can cling to this body he knows every inch of and maybe, maybe he’ll find his way back to who he was before. Not to happiness, perhaps, but _lightness_ for sure: to the fun and excitement Eve desires out of life, to something less complicated than this bloody mess, this hole of hopeless pining he dug for himself, the crater of a fall that didn’t even need any wings to tear apart for him to be broken by it.

He gets rougher in the end, always does despite the self-control human bodies require of him, his strength slipping from his grasp before he snaps back into himself. His hand squeezes and spasms around Eve's hipbone as he thrusts into her one last time, groaning his relief in her ear, but she doesn’t even flinch nor voice a complaint, doesn’t do anything beside kissing his nose and his cheeks as he comes down.

He had forgotten what it felt like, to be cherished this way; she was the first one who ever did, and it turns out that she might be the only one who ever will. She is here now, and he needs her, needs _someone_ because he _is_ weak and pathetic and everything that comes with it, everything Father intended for him not to be, and this weakness, too, is his and his alone.

Even though a part of him isn’t sure he truly deserves it, one word leaves his mouth and he knows he won’t be able to take it back.

“Stay.”

Eve smiles at him just before sleep takes her under.

“Always” she replies, then closes her eyes.


End file.
